


Apprendre de la Mort

by corgivore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asphyxiation, Blood, Blood Drinking, F/F, Sexual Violence, Snuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgivore/pseuds/corgivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tasked with assassinating Tracer, Widowmaker experiences a conflict of identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apprendre de la Mort

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm sure I left tags out so tell me what to fix. Also please read the tags! I don't want to upset anyone!)
> 
> This is, well, it's the first thing I've written in 3+ years (and it really shows).
> 
> Anyway, this is supposed to be set a little before the Alive video.  
> I like the versatility that comes with Tracer and Widowmaker's characters, so I tried to do my own take on them. I bet this breaks a whole bunch of the canon rules, sue me.
> 
> I'm so sorry. I tried to give this a plot, and then the plot got bogged down by all this kink stuff later in the story. Forgive me ;_;

Amélie Lacroix was a pacifist. Like her husband Gérard, she worked with Overwatch to make the world a safer place for humans and omnics alike. She never believed in retribution, or justice without mercy. And no matter the situation, her resolve would always endure.

She wasn’t one for smiling or warmth, but beneath her proud exterior Lena could tell. Amélie was gentle. Everything she did, she did for Gerard, for Overwatch, for others. She was selfless.

Lena wanted to be like her. To become like her – a hero that fought for others’ sakes. She volunteered herself for the Slipstream project, believing that she _too_ had the power to make a difference. Amelie would see – she could change the world too. _Nothing_ would stop her.

It was only a little after Lena disappeared during the test pilot run that Talon stole Amélie away. Drugged, beaten, and psychologically broken, they converted her into the Widowmaker, an organic weapon that lived for death.

\-----

When the Talon commander uttered her next target’s name, even Widowmaker’s frozen heart skipped a beat. Now, as she strode along the smooth, rain-soaked asphalt of King’s Row, the feeling – that moment – was still echoing in her head.

 _A misunderstanding. Some sort of mistake._ She needed an explanation and anything would suffice. None of it made _sense_. How could Tracer be _alive_? She died inside the Slipstream, all that time ago.

_They never found her body._

Turning the nearby corner, she stared down a narrow street. _Not much further now_ , she thought. Passing house after house, she stopped before a modest two-story frontsplit. The number on the letterbox stared back at her, tauntingly. A golden 7, illuminated by the light of the streetlamp. _End of the line._

Biding her time, Widowmaker turned her head to the sky. A full moon. Even the sky contested her.

Just _who_ was she about to kill?

\-----

She cracked the front door lock easily enough, entering the foyer soundlessly. Carefully maneuvering her body’s weight distribution and center of gravity, she slid her body towards the stairway without making a sound. According to the floorplan, her target was in one of the upstairs bedrooms. She began her ascent.

Now she stood outside the bedroom door, painfully aware of her body. The house was warm, and yet her hands and torso were shaking uncontrollably. She knew only too well how the excitement before the kill felt. The burning chest, the blood-engorged arms, the trembling jaw. But this was different.

And it hit her. What she was feeling, right now, was fear. Terror, even. Because through all the excuses, all the doubts she had, her mind hadn’t completely discarded the chilling possibility. _What if…_ _what if there was no mistake?_ She’d killed dozens of people. Their names, their faces, she felt nothing for them. They were a suit of meat and bones, or a skeleton of metal and silicon. But Tracer was a _person_. Behind that face, beyond that name, there lay someone she felt was truly _alive_.

_…How could she be alive?_

Readying her gun, Widowmaker kicked the door off its frame.

\-----

It was a lie. It _had_ to be a lie. Lena wouldn’t, she _couldn’t_ accept it.

Amélie would _never_ kill someone. And of all people, _Gérard?_ There had to be some kind of mistake.

But the surveillance footage lay everything bare. Lena’s eyes, her ears, she could find nothing _false_ about the video. All she had was that mental image of Amélie, the hero, to deny with.

Winston could only shake his head. There was no need for words anymore. Even he could see Lena’s expression becoming progressively more _broken_ as the hard-set beliefs she’d been clinging to for so long were shattering around her.

Was it _really_ possible? Was Amélie just an _act_? Were her heroics just a façade, concealing a heartless murderer?

Lena needed to know _why_ she’d done it. Amélie’s resolve had _moved_ her. It was that heroic, unrelenting endurance that kept her sane during the months she spent outside of existence. But she never could. Amélie was gone. With Gérard’s corpse mutilated beyond recognition, she’d disappeared into the night.

And now, for the first time, Lena felt truly _lost_.

\-----

She was staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the paint, when it happened. A loud crunch echoed through the room as the wood of the door split, and soon after, a deafening thud as it fell to the ground. Instinctively turning her head towards the noise, Lena could make out a silhouette through the dust. For a moment it was static. Then it began to grow. Someone was coming, and fast.

Lunging for her dresser drawer, Lena fumbled for her pistol. She wasn’t fast enough. With arms outstretched, the figure bludgeoned her face with its arms. Before Lena was able to steady herself, her assailant threw its weight at her, slamming her back against the bedside wall. Its hands forcefully grasped at her wrists, pinning them against the side of the bed, nails clawing deeper and deeper into her skin.

 _Who was this person? What did they want with her?_ Lena wasn’t sure. A black and red visor obscured their face. _And were they even human?_ Their skin was an eerie shade of purple, and they were hardly breathing at all. It was as though an animated corpse had restrained her.

And then they spoke.

“Why are _you_ here?”

It was a woman’s voice. Vaguely familiar sounding. Had she heard it before?

She couldn’t answer the question, even if she wanted to. The assailant’s left elbow was pushing down hard against Lena’s chest. Hardly able to draw air, she could only force out whines and weak coughs.

Silence rang out for entire minutes. At least, that’s how long it felt. All Lena could hear was the ruffling of the bedsheets and the creaking of the mattress as her assailant shifted her body weight around. Finally, they drew another breath.

“I’m supposed to kill you, you know.” Like the woman’s skin, her voice was icy. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in her words.

Without letting go of her wrists, her assailant slid her body off Lena’s chest. She hadn’t asked a question this time, but the change in position suggested that _now_ she wanted an answer. Lena decided she had nothing to lose from speaking.

“Then what’s stopping you?” Lena felt her mouth curve into a grin. Her assailant had her pinned down, but something was holding them back too.

Instead of answering her with words, the woman released one of Lena’s wrists, before reaching back, behind her head. A distinct click, and her visor fell away.

_It couldn’t be._

\-----

What _was_ this feeling? Guilt? Disgrace? _Regret_? She a living weapon, wasn’t she? An organic gun, unable to discriminate between its targets. All that mattered to her were orders and the kill itself. Why would she be feeling _anything_ right now?

Her left arm’s nails were cutting deeper and deeper into Tracer’s skin with every passing thought, painting the palm of her hand with thin streams of drying blood.

She didn’t care if the rest of the world saw her like this, but Tracer was _different_. To have Tracer stare through her soul like this, it was _shameful_. Through Tracer’s eyes she could see her reflection, and for the first time saw herself as she really was.

She’d become a monster.

“…Amélie? Is that really you?”

Her voice, tainted with fear and confusion, sounded weak and uncertain, like she’d been winded. But Widowmaker knew. Even if Tracer – no, even if _Lena_ pretended otherwise, what her words were really conveying… it had to be hatred and disgust.

But why did that even matter? She didn’t need to feel _ashamed_ of who she was now. Amélie died a long time ago. Now she was Widowmaker, and nothing more.

With all the force her left arm could muster, she lunged her fist at the center of Lena’s chest. The sensation of her ribs, cracking under the force, reverberated back through her arm, all the way to her core. It _excited_ her. _This_ was who she was. Someone who _lived_ to see the pain of others.

“Ça pique, n'est-ce pas?” Widowmaker flashed a sadistic grin at Lena, whose mouth was contorting in pain. Through her thin pajamas, Widowmaker could make out the yellowed, bruised skin, pooling on her chest. “Amélie is gone.” Bringing her hand to Lena’s chest, Widowmaker gently pushed against the bruising, sliding her thumb and forefinger over the colored patches of flesh. With every touch, Lena hissed, sighed, or tightly bit against her lip. It was… _cute_.

She wanted to taunt her, to tease her, to break her. Widowmaker knew only too well how _that_ felt. She could make Lena like her. They could fall into depravity _together_.

\-----

From deep within her chest, she could feel the pain welling up. Not just the blood, burning in her chest, but something heavier. This feeling… it had been there ever since she saw Amélie’s face.

Amélie looked so pitiful. Lena could see through her burning orange eyes, through the vicious smirk her face bore. Behind all of it, she knew that Amélie was struggling to keep up her strong front. Those eyes were watering, and the grin was twitching. The mask on her face was cracking. She wasn’t imagining it. Even as she continued to hurt Lena, Amélie was suffering too. She _had_ to be suffering. There was no way Amélie _couldn’t_ be in there, somewhere.

But what could she do? Someone as weak and pathetic as her, how could she bring Amélie back? She was insulting Amélie’s memory by assuming that, somehow, she could be a part of the solution. Wasn’t she?

Lena didn’t matter. Her even being alive was a matter of sheer luck and circumstance. Her aspirations and ethics had long since collapsed. And besides, she was barely one step above being a ghost.

_Aren’t I allowed to be a little selfish, though?_

Her death wouldn’t mean anything to the world, but if she could do something – anything – to be of use to Amélie, wouldn’t it be worth it? She’d decided. Trying her hardest to ignore the pain rippling from within her chest, she forced a smile.

“It doesn’t bother me.” She tried to laugh reassuringly, but could only manage a sigh. “Even if you’re no longer human. Even if you’re a vicious monster. Even if you only want to hurt me, I…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t _deserve_ to tell Amélie what she really felt.

“Anyway, you’re still _you_ , Amélie. That won’t ever change.”

\-----

“You’re still Amélie…”

The words kept playing back in Widowmaker’s mind. It wasn’t true. Amélie would never hurt someone, she’d never murder, and she’d never _enjoy_ someone else’s suffering. She didn’t deserve to call herself Amélie. Amélie was a good person. She was _pure_.

Wasn’t she?

Widowmaker instinctively clutched the side of her forehead, scrunching her eyes up in pain. It felt like something in her head was _burning_. Like her skull was cooking from the inside out.

Talon had brainwashed her, hadn’t they? They’d _reprogrammed_ her mind. It wasn’t her fault she’d come to enjoy the sensation of another’s death. She never _wanted_ to murder Gérard, did she?

…

 _Had_ she been reprogrammed? Had she even been kidnapped? The thick haze in her mind was fading.

…

Amélie had always been terrified of spiders, but not in the typical sense. Spiders were _alluring_. They trapped their prey in an inescapable web and tightly wrapped it in silk. Then, slowly, they’d fill their prey’s body with acidic venom, dissolving it from inside, before digesting it whole.

Spiders _excited_ Amélie. She felt ill, sickened that something so cruel could stir such arousal within her. And one day, she finally lost control of her desires.

She wanted to know what it looked like. To see a human melt from within. To taste everything within them. And the thought of killing someone so close to her, someone so gentle and kind. The thought of snuffing out Gérard’s life, it only added to the thrill of the taboo.

Talon had nothing to do with it. Amélie selected, hunted, and consumed her prey. She made herself into a Widowmaker.

Lena was right after all, she really _was_ Amélie. But Lena still misunderstood something. Amélie _was_ a monster. And she’d selected her next prey…

\-----

Lena couldn’t quite read Amélie’s expression. For the past few moments her eyes had wandered skyward, her expression nothing but a blank slate. Now though, it looked as if she’d regained her train of thought, and, with her eyes fixated on the bedding beneath her, was processing something of great significance.

And then she noticed. Amélie was pressing her digits against Lena’s left hand, interlocking their fingers. She could feel Amélie’s skin, soft yet cold to the touch, meshing with her flushed palm.

“Amélie, what are you-“

Before she could finish speaking, Amélie had struck the side of her face with her outstretched palm. Despite Amélie’s cold hands, Lena’s skin was burning in pain. Lena instinctively turned away, but Amélie, grasping the base of her chin with her hand, snapped Lena’s head back to face her.

Seeing Amélie, towering over her, looking down at her like she were nothing more than a toy… it felt _electrifying_. Lena could feel Amélie’s resolve.

_How nostalgic._

Their eyes locked, just for a moment, but it was long enough for Lena to see. Amélie’s eyes had glassed over. Not with tears – she didn’t look at all ready to cry – but with a burning, all-consuming passion. When _had_ Amélie last blinked?

At least, this meant one thing. Even if the nature of Lena’s passion for Amélie differed from what Amélie felt for Lena, the two of them still had _some_ kind of mutual feeling fueling their actions. For Lena, that alone felt like enough.

Tentatively, she extended her arms, wrapping them around Amélie’s torso, her hands coming to rest upon Amélie’s hair. Gently pulling forward, she drew Amélie into the embrace, her face slowly approaching.

Lena’s arms were trembling with fear and arousal, and she was painfully aware of just how shallow and rapid her breathing had become. For all the things she’d done in her life, she’d never kissed someone before.

\-----

In her life as an assassin, Amélie had come to know the various pheromones her targets released as they died. Their fear had a smell, and she was especially familiar with it.

Now, the two of them were close enough that she could _smell_ Lena. She could _smell_ her fear. But she could also sense something else. Something new. The scent of her excitement.

The smell of fear was intoxicating. It alone was normally enough to excite Amélie into the kill. Yet, this was somehow even more overwhelming. Knowing that, through all of this, Lena was somehow… _excited_ … it made her want to do things to her she’d never even thought of. She was losing control.

Trying to take the lead, Amélie traced her tongue over Lena’s bottom lip, coming to gently hold it between her teeth, before softly pulling back to try again. Lena’s skin was alien compared to hers. Where she was cold and numb, Lena was warm and full of life.

Her left hand moved along Lena’s cheek, cupping her ear in her palm. The tips of her fingers tangled for a few moments in her hair, pulling it down the back of her neck in strands.

Pulling away from her lips for a moment, Widowmaker leaned into Lena’s ear, close enough for Lena to hear her scattered breathing, and spoke.

“I’m not letting you go.”

\-----

Lena tightened her grip on Amélie, pulling against her hair with a deep-seated feeling of longing. She knew the real meaning behind Amélie’s words, but couldn’t bring herself to protest.

It didn’t matter who or what she _really_ was. She was still Amélie, after all. And she’d do anything to make Amélie happy. This was _her_ resolve.

“I don’t want you to let me go.”

Their arms slowly moved from one-another’s heads to their shoulders, before settling upon each other’s backs. Moving back to face Lena, Amelie gently prodded against her lips with her tongue. Lena shyly opened her mouth, allowing Amélie’s tongue to explore her.

\-----

Lena’s mouth was warm and calming. Her tongue gently wrestled against Amélie’s, the two of them exchanging saliva. Lena’s tasted a little like fruit to Amélie. It was too _sweet_ for her. She couldn’t be satisfied by just this.

Pushing deeper into the kiss, Amélie extended her upper canines. Supporting Lena’s lower jaw with her spare hand, she bit down _hard_ , the pointed end of her right fang sliding through Lena’s tongue like a knife through butter. She could hear Lena, gasping and moaning from the pain and surprise of it, but it didn’t matter. Lena was her prey. A toy to do with as she pleased. _This_ was who Amélie really was.

She could feel it. The unmistakable flavor of iron had mingled with the saliva, and was trickling into her mouth. Blood. _Fresh_ blood. Lena tasted of _life_ itself, and Amélie couldn’t get enough. With her other fang, she pierced deep into Lena’s lower gum, cutting against the bone beneath. And again, the rich, warm liquid filled her throat.

Lena was barely able to hold the kiss at this point. She no longer pushed her tongue against Amélie’s, and her hands were knotted tight within the assassin’s hair. Her _mouth_ wasn’t resisting Amélie, but she could tell. Lena’s resolve was weakening.

Why did it have to feel so _good_? Why did the suffering of others _arouse_ her? Why was _she_ born a monster?

Amélie knew she had the capacity to _love_ , to feel _warmth_. Her desire not to hurt others, none of it was an act. So why? Why was she _cursed_ with these desires? And why was she so _weak_ so as to succumb to them?

It was easier being Widowmaker. That way, she was the _victim_. Brainwashed and broken, her excuses could redeem her actions.

She could feel her desires stirring. To go _further_ , to feel _better_. She tried to run, but couldn’t escape the thoughts.

Tearing away from the embrace, she shoved Lena off the bed.

\-----

“Get away from me!”

Lena’s head hit the carpet with a loud thump. Sparks and stars filled her vision, and she could still taste the blood, pooling at the base of her mouth.

“Lena… there’s a monster inside me. You need to leave here _now_. Otherwise, I… I’m not sure what I’ll do…”

She understood what Amélie meant. _This_ Amélie, the _real_ Amélie… she wasn’t the noble hero Lena thought she was.

_But how did that change anything?_

Lena wasn’t a hero either. Beneath her step-forward smile and bubbly voice, she felt broken too. After experiencing months of total nothingness, she came back to reality only to learn how her idol, her inspiration, had betrayed her. She was lost, without function or purpose. If Amélie really did care for her. If Amélie was the only person in the world who understood her, even slightly…

If Amélie wouldn’t abandon her, she’d stay with Amélie forever. No matter what that entailed.

“If… if it would make you happy, Amélie, I’d let you…”

 _How selfish._ Amélie deserved better than her. She deserved someone who really _could_ fix her. Not someone who’d pull her, deeper and deeper, into this twisted form of love. But Lena didn’t care. It was her turn to be cold and heartless. And she _wanted_ to be Amélie’s.

Lena slid back onto the bed, lying on her back, head against the pillow.

“You can break me, Amélie.”

\-----

Her body was no longer moving under her control. Amélie hands had affixed themselves around Lena’s neck. They wrapped tightly against the skin, muscle, and bone beneath them, before pushing and constricting with anticipation.

 _Did it hurt? Was it scary?_ The Amélie Lena believed in would have asked such questions out of concern, but this Amélie wanted answers that would fuel her passion. She wanted to draw it out. To bring Lena to the verge of consciousness, then relent. To push her to the edge of her life again, and again. To make her _beg_ for death.

“Open your mouth,” she commanded between excited pants. Lena could only part her teeth an inch or so, but it was enough. Amélie’s tongue dove between the lips, feeling her every cavity. The drying blood under her tongue, the convulsing throat and uvula, the cheeks rapidly expanding and receding. Her tongue could _feel_ all of Lena’s mouth as it choked.

It was time. Pulling away from Lena’s lips, once again, she slid her hands from the side of Lena’s neck, holding her head and chin steadily. Leaning forward, Amélie bit deep into the flesh below.

Her left fang managed to nick the external jugular, and her right one managed to sever it completely. Clasping her lips over the wound, she drank. The warmth, the metallic taste, the rich, thick texture. She was draining Lena’s life away.

Wrapping her arms over Lena’s shoulders, she clung to her like a lost child. The last thing she wanted was for Lena to feel alone. At least they could suffer together.

Blood flowed slower and slower into her mouth. Lena’s pulse had fell faint. Her eyes had almost no spark left. It was time to say goodbye. In the warmest voice she could manage, the voice she knew Lena loved dearly, she spoke.

“I love you.”

…

The flash of blue light left Amélie blinded for a moment, and then, there before her again was Lena. Sparkling eyes, rosy skin and all. Her arms clinging to Amélie’s waist, with no intention of letting go.

“…I’ll never leave you alone.” Lena’s face bore a half smile, but even now, she couldn’t be honest with her words.

_Please never leave me alone._


End file.
